A Tale Told Over Centuries Shall Be Told Once Again
by Suspicion's Curiosity
Summary: Gandalf is currently watching over yound Boromir and Faramir while their father is in council. He uses his magic to retell the legend of the One Ring. (UPDATED)


_**A/N: So this entire scene will turn up again in a later piece I'm working on but with a rather big difference.**_

_**UPDATE: So it turns out when I originally uploaded the story under this name I used the document and it turned out to be a completely different fandom. So now I feel like an idiot...**_

**-x-**

The flames dance and flare amid the darkness. They grow and take shape at the flick of his fingers. They leap and prance around the stone pillars of a pavilion centered in the citadel gardens. Lighting up the remaining space not already lit by lanterns as the glow lingers near the shadows.

A pair of silver eyes, brimming with wonder, follow the creature of flame while a second pair watches in feigned amazement. A believable ruse, to seven year olds that is, but to his centuries old, trained eyes he can see the boredom hidden within. This twelve year old boy has a desire for tales of old war heroes and victories, not meager displays of magic.

The soft glimmering of the newly shed moonlight brings a fresh idea to the wizard's head. With another quick flick of his wrist the flames shatter and split into tiny orange sparks and shower over the two children. The younger boy beams as the sparks land on his skin with no heat whatsoever while the older smiles at his reactions.

The wizard sets his staff down and takes a seat on a bench across from the two boys.

The wizard turns toward the eldest of the children, taking into account his boredom, "Mm, Master Boromir," he says and crosses his arms. "It would seem as though you are not interested in my magic tonight," the wizard says with a slight chuckle.

Boromir's eyes widen with realization that the wizard had noticed and immediately jumps to defending himself. His brother looks at Boromir in silent confusion.

"No, no! It's not that Mithrandir; I just have other things on my mind." He says almost solemnly. His eyes slightly droop at possibly the thought of what is on his mind.

"Well then, I suppose I should try to get you to forget those thoughts, for tonight at least. It is Midsummer's Eve, relax and don't worry about what your father wants of you." Mithrandir says. This seems to cheer up Boromir, a bit at least, and he nods. "Now, have you heard the tale of the One Ring?"

The two of them shake their heads and look at him expectantly. Mithrandir smiles and settles himself onto the marble ground of the pavilion. The boys follow in his lead. The younger of the two hunkers down onto his stomach to become eye level with Mithrandir's magic.

"Mithrandir," Boromir's brother starts just before the man in question was going to begin the story.

"Yes Master Faramir?"

"I think I remember what the One Ring was now. Wasn't it a ring that the Dark Lord Sauron wore and it gave him power?"

"Indeed it was, but there is a longer story of how it came to be and it's purpose." Mithrandir conjures up nineteen circles of fire in mid air. "Back in the Second Age nineteen rings were forged by the Elves. They are now known as the Rings of Power. Sauron then secretly forged one more ring, in the fires of Mount Doom." At this he creates another ring of fire above the others.

"This One Ring was created for the sole purpose of controlling the Rings of Power that the Elves had in their possession and therefore controlling the wearers themselves. There was a flaw in his plan though, for once he placed the ring on his finger the Elven wearers were immediately aware of Sauron and took off their own. Furious with this outcome the Dark Lord declared war on the Elves and demanded they return the rings. He recovered sixteen of the nineteen the Elves had as the remaining three were hidden by the Elf Lords." Mithrandir turns three of the fire rings into smoke and moves them from the focus of the others.

Boromir, he notes, now seems to be engaged in this story. The rings of fire twinkle in the brothers' eyes as they watch the wizard form sixteen figures still made of fire.

"Sauron gave these remaining rings to mortals. Seven to the dwarf-lords in their halls of stone," He moves seven of the rings to hover just above the seven figures he created to represent the dwarves, "and nine went to mortal men doomed to die." He does the same with nine rings, leaving the One Ring with a looming figure.

"In time the nine men fell to the power of the rings they possessed and became shadows, the Ring-wraiths. The seven dwarf-lords whom were gifted with the rings did not fall to Sauron and became wealthier then kings. But the rings still corrupted the dwarves by creating an unsurpassed greed that only brought ruin to themselves and their lands as they continued to search for riches." Mithrandir swipes his hand over the sixteen figures and they become smoke. He blows lightly on the smoke figures and they whisk away.

"One by one the free lands of Middle Earth fell. But there were those who resisted the power of the Ring and a last alliance of men, elves and dwarves fought against the armies of Mordor. They fought for the freedom of Middle Earth on the slopes of Mount Doom, where the One Ring was forged." The wizard creates a mock battlefield with small figures of fire fighting against each other and when defeated turning into smoke and fading.

The boys watch in open amazement at the warfare before them, their eyes constantly switching their focus for another duel. The glow of the flames light their faces orange as they lean ever closer to get a better look, for these flames are not burning.

"Victory for the Alliance was at hand until," He creates a fierce figure that looms over the rest, "the Dark Lord himself made his appearance. He carried a mace of unbelievable strength. He made his way ever closer to King Elendil as he struck down man, elf and dwarf alike." The looming figure of Sauron pushes through the figures of fire on his way to the King. As expected, Faramir's face is etched with worry as Boromir's is set in focus. Mithrandir can't help but hide a smile from the boys.

Sauron strikes Elendil, sending him flying. Isildur runs to his father's aid but finds that he is dead. As the Dark Lord looms over the two of them, Faramir lets out a little gasp. "Isildur took up his father's sword," As the figure of Isildur picks up the sword Sauron's heavy foot lands atop the flat of the blade, breaking it into multiple pieces. As Sauron is about to strike, Isildur slashes his fingers, including the one that the ring was resting on. "And defeated the Dark Lord."

The wizard's hand swipes over the entirety of the battlefield, erasing it. The boys immediately look up to Mithrandir after the spectacle disappears, wanting to know more. "Isildur took the ring, despite the pleas of many to destroy it once and for all. In 2 of the Third Age, Isildur and his company were ambushed by orcs in Gladden Fields. It was here that the Ring finally betrayed Isildur. In an attempt to escape he jumped into the River Anduin and used the Ring to stay out of sight from the orcs. Unfortunately for him the Ring slipped off his finger and he was found by the offending orcs."

Mithrandir stands and brushes off his cloak before settling on the stone bench once more. As silence ensues he takes out his pipe. He decides not to tell them the story of Bilbo Baggins and the Ring, for this would reveal the Rings location and it'd be for the best of everyone that the heir of Gondor not know that piece of information.

Faramir sits up and brushes off his chest but remains silent, thinking over the story that the wizard told him. Boromir in the same spot as he was with his hand on his chin, obviously thinking something over.

After a long while of silence a voice breaks it, "What happened to the Ring after Isildur was caught?" Faramir asks.

"Ah, now that question, I cannot answer." At this they look at him.

"What do you mean you can't answer?" Faramir asks with a little hint of dread in his voice. He then gasps, "Did you swear not to tell anybody?" Boromir raises his eyebrows at the suggestion.

"No, no, nothing of that sort. I cannot answer merely because I do not have the answer. In fact, I don't think anybody does," Mithrandir chuckles. At Faramir's solemn expression he says, 'Which is probably for the better. For if we did know the answer than the Ring could start a new war."

"But, wouldn't the Ring be able to help Gondor?" Boromir asks. "I mean, with that power our armies would be practically invincible wouldn't they?" Mithrandir is momentarily struck silent. He's heard those words before, just not from Boromir, but from his father, the Steward of Gondor.

"No," the sternness in the wizard's voice is absolute. It slightly startles Faramir as he watches this conversation. "The power this Ring wields was meant for destruction only. Sauron created the Ring and poured his cruelty and malice into the thing with the sole purpose of destroying everything and everyone that stood against his power."

With his answer Boromir merely nods his head. The discussion ends as the silence between the two begins again. He does not blame the Steward's son for saying such things, for it would make sense to use something with this much power to do good but in this instance the power the weapon holds is not and never willed be used for good.

A few moments pass by and just before the wizard is about to stand a figure appears out of the shadows. A man of sixty years with graying hair, dark eyes and dark robes steps forward, into the full view. An ever deepening scowl etched on his wrinkling face. The three of them bow their heads to the man, out of respect.

"I would like to thank you, Mithrandir, for watching over my sons for these recent hours but for now they must return to their studies before retiring for the night." Denethor says with a curt nod for Mithrandir. Despite his words the wizard can tell that Denethor doesn't mean it in the slightest.

He watches as the smile on Faramir's face is replaced by a small frown and Boromir let's out the briefest of sighs, which his father doesn't seem to notice. Mithrandir can't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for both Boromir and Faramir. Being the heirs to the Steward of Gondor has never been a simple task for any of their ancestors either but Denethor does seem to act harder on them than any previous Stewards. They do not have a mother to turn to seeing as her untimely death occurred two years ago.

Mithrandir simply nods to the Steward.

"Come Boromir," Denethor says with a slight wave of his hand. The ring that signifies his office glints slightly in both the moonlight ant the lantern light. Both Boromir and Faramir stand, despite Denethor only beckoning one name. Denethor turns and walks back into the shadows with his sons following behind. Before disappearing into the darkness Faramir stops and turns back to Mithrandir who hasn't moved from his spot in the pavilion and looks at him with solemn eyes.

"Do you think that the Ring will be found soon?" He asks, voice a little hushed.

"Oh, well, it very well may be but if you want a definite answer I suggest you find an Elven Lord or Lady with foresight," he says using his staff to support him as he stands up. He receives a small nod as a response. Eyes still rimmed with sadness Faramir raises his hand and waves.

Mithrandir returns the wave with a smile to try and cheer up the kind hearted boy. Faramir gives the wizard a small smile before turning again. He hesitates but then disappears into the darkness to catch up with his brother and father.

"And when the Ring does finally come about, I can only hope that it is after your time." Mithrandir says to himself after the young heir is gone.

**-x-**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings nor the character. They belong to the Tolkein estate and no one else. **_

_**Reviews are much appreciated and they make my day!**_


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